


A Stubbornly Persistent Illusion

by Tabithian



Category: Batman (Comics), Bleach, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason sees things, sometimes. (Always.)</p><p>He remembers his mother taking him to a doctor, before she died. Remembers the worry, the fear when he showed her the drawings he’d made of the things he saw that no one else could. (People wearing black robes flashing by overhead, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, people with chains coming out of their chests.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stubbornly Persistent Illusion

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my God, I started this damn thing years ago, and then sort of lost steam, and now I don't even know, but it's done! (Or like, phase one is done? IDK.)
> 
> Based on one of my [Horrible Ideas](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/tagged/Bleach-AU) and excited babbling with heartslogos and supercomicgirl and *hands*
> 
>  
> 
> Temporary character death because Shinigami/Soul Reapers.

Jason sees things, sometimes. (Always.)

He remembers his mother taking him to a doctor, before she died. Remembers the worry, the fear when he showed her the drawings he’d made of the things he saw that no one else could. (People wearing black robes flashing by overhead, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, people with chains coming out of their chests.)

The doctor hadn’t found anything wrong with him that medical science could detect. When his mother mentioned the things Jason claimed to see laughed the whole thing off and told her Jason just had a vivid imagination. 

He remembers asking her later if something was wrong him the doctors couldn’t see, find, and he remembers the way she’d just looked at him as though she didn’t know the answer. (He remembers one of her boyfriends dragging him to a priest, muttering darkly, hand wrapped tight around his wrist.)

He learned to lie about it, the people no one else seemed to be able to see to make that worried, frightened look on his mother’s face go away. (He’s not sure if it makes things better or worse for her when he finds her staring down at her grave after she overdoses.)

********

Jason meets Colin when he cuts through an empty lot one day. At some point someone put up playground equipment that’s long been abandoned, neglected. The grass is overgrown, reaching up to his knees in places, wild vines overtaking the fencing.

He’s tiny, really.

Tucked into a ball under the slide, toes of his shoes poking out. (One foot passing through one of the slide’s supports.)

“Hey,” Jason says, startled. “The hell are you doing here?”

Colin doesn’t react at first, but when Jason moves closer he twitches. Slowly raises his head.

“Me?” he says, when he realizes Jason’s looking at him. “You can see me?”

“What, you think I just go around talking to myself for the hell of it?” Jason asks.

Colin just stares, and Jason.

Jason turns around and starts walking away. When he looks back, he sees Colin following him.

“My name’s Jason,” he says, and waits.

Colin frowns, thinking hard. He glances back at the empty lot, and back to Jason. Bites his lip, and then a quiet, simple, “I’m Colin.”

********

Jason hears about the attacks on the radio, catches news reports on television.

Some kind of animal that's been driven from it's native habitat or let loose in the city. Experts think it's some kind of big cat, possibly a mountain lion. 

“Like hell it's a mountain lion,” Jason says, glaring at the television.

This is fucking _Gotham_. What the hell would a mountain lion be doing here?

Colin looks up at that, worry on his face. “What else could it be?”

Jason glares harder, as if that's going to do any good. Whatever this is, he _knows_ it's not an animal attack. 

“I don't know, but until they catch this thing, you're not going anywhere alone.”

Colin makes a face at him because he's not exactly a normal kid, but he's also not a complete idiot. 

********

Jason’s heard all the way smoking’s going to kill him, but really, this wasn’t one he’d pictured. Also, he’s a bit of a hypocrite.

Possibly, maybe. (Definitely.)

“Goddammit!” he yells, barely managing to dodge as the damn thing chasing him hurls a dumpster at his head. “The fuck is this?”

Whatever has been killing people isn’t a damn mountain lion, and it’s not a bear or even the goddamn Jersey Devil. At least he’s pretty sure it’s not the damn Jersey Devil, he’s heard enough about it in his life to know the thing that’s trying to kill him doesn’t look a damn thing like what the stories says it does. He can’t bring himself to think of it as a monster because that’s too small of a word to describe it.

It’s smart too, or at least smart enough to use rudimentary tactics while chasing him. Flanking him at every turn, cutting off avenues of retreat. Herding him.

“Fucking hell,” Jason snarls as something else goes crashing into the street just ahead of him with a tortured shriek of metal.

He jogs to a stop and stares at the overturned car, sound of the thing’s footsteps drawing closer, soft click of its claws.

He’s going to die because he couldn’t wait until morning to get a pack of cigarettes. (Colin’s never going to let him hear the end of this.)

The thing grins at him, bone-white mask with blood-red lips pulled into a mockery of a smile. Green hair falling over one eye.

“The hell are you waiting for, bastard?”

Its laughter starts out quiet, chilling, and crescendos into a barking laugh.

“And to think I was having fun,” it says, mocking.

Jason snarls, takes a step forward because he’s an idiot and suddenly Colin’s there, arms spread wide as he stands between Jason the the thing.

Small, so damn small up against it and Jason is a goddamned idiot because he rushes forward, _through_ Colin as the thing strikes out, hooked ends of its claws catching his chest, his side. It , snarls, furious, and tosses him aside like a rag-doll.

He tries to get up, but his body’s not responding properly, limbs heavy, clumsy. The ground shakes as the thing charges, howling madly as goes.

There’s a flash of light, rustle of fabric and a shadow passing by overhead.

“Joker!”

Jason drags his eyes open to see a dark form flitting lightly across the cars parked along the street towards the thing, staff in its hands.

“Jason?”

Turning his head he sees Colin kneeling beside him, hands hovering over Jason’s chest, eyes wide.

“Idiot,” Jason manages.

He can hear fighting, crunching metal and breaking glass, crumbling stone. The thing’s furious, roaring and snarling, desperately trying to smash its attacker, _break_ them.

“You’re going to be okay,” Colin says, but he doesn’t quite stick it.

“Yeah, well,” Jason says. “Don’t be offended if I don’t take your word on that.”

“Jason - “

“Shut it,” Jason says, feeling a tired smile steal over his face. (He’s cold, tired, and always knew he was going to die young.)

There’s one last howl from that thing that makes Jason’s blood go cold – and then it’s suddenly, deafeningly quiet.

Colin moves closer to him as he registers soft footfalls, the edge of a long black robe entering Jason’s field of vision.

“You kill it?”

“No,” the figure says, and Jason doesn’t think he’s imagining the quiet frustration in his voice. “But he won’t be back for a while.”

Jason feels his lips twist into a sneer at that, like it’s supposed to be reassuring.

A beat of silence as though the bastard knows that, and then, “You need to move on.”

“Fuck off,” Jason says, because he doesn’t always make the best decisions.

That, that fucking _thing_ always in his head is like a damn dog pulling at its chain, frenzied and now is really not the time for that.

There’s a moment of silence, long enough that Jason looks up to see the figure staring at him. At least that’s what Jason thinks he’s doing, it’s hard to tell with the damn hood shadowing his face.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the figure says, something like amusement in his voice. “I was talking to him.”

Jason bares his teeth. “Over my dead body,” he says, which.

“Poor choice of words,” the figure says, definitely amused now. “But I still have a job to do.”

Jason seethes, struggling to sit up even though he knows this is useless – futile – but he can’t just lie there and do nothing.

“Jason,” Colin says, reaching out for him. “It’s okay.”

Jason looks at him, and the fight drains out of him at what he sees on Colin’s face.

“Who the hell are you anyway?” Jason asks, tired.

“Death,” the figure says, and there’s a pause. “Well, a death, I suppose.”

Jason doesn’t even try to understand. Just looks at Colin.

Colin smiles, says, “It’ll be okay, Jason,” and this time he sells it.

Jason watches as the bastard presses the end of his staff against Colin’s forehead, and raises a hand to shield his eyes at the flare of blue-white light.

“See you on the other side, brat,” Jason says, knowing full well that it’s not going to long until then.

There’s an amused noise from the figure, almost a laugh and a soft, “Not for a while yet,” he says, and everything goes black.

********

It's a surprise when he wakes up the next day. 

No.

It's a surprise he wakes up at _all_ , and more of one to find that his injuries from the night before have healed completely, not even a mark on him from that clusterfuck. 

And because he thinks he deserves to take some time to himself, he calls his work to let them know he won't be coming in for the day, and stares at his bedroom wall blankly for several minutes before he realizes that's not actually helping.

When he turns the television on he sees thee news reports. Too many questions with no answers, and everyone has a theory. 

Jason stares at the overturned car being lifted onto a tow truck as a reporter drones on about estimated property damage and locals gather to watch the cleanup. The crumpled dumpster when the cameraman pans to the side, reporter offering up a finely crafted line of bullshit about gas mains

He starts to turn to Colin, ask him if they think people are going to buy that crap, and freezes because he remembers Colin won't be there. 

“Christ,” Jason swears, rubs his face. “The fuck.”

Colin is _gone_.

That stupid kid he found curled up under a slide in an abandoned playground with those sad eyes of his and heart too big for someone his size. 

Jason laughs, a little ragged because it's not like anyone's going to notice, know, except for Jason and that bastard who sent him away and -

“Fuck.”

********

The horrible truth about life Jason's always hated as much as admired is that it goes on.

Tragedy after tragedy and people eventually pick themselves up and move forward. (Or they don't, and that's another kind of tragedy right fucking there, and Jason knows how that goes all too well.)

After a while Jason stops turning to where Colin should be – sprawled over the couch or perched on the kitchen counter watching Jason making dinner or paying the bills that never stop coming. Leaning again against him while watching movies and chipping in with quiet observations or jokes when one of the characters did something stupid.

He stops looking for that mop of red hair at the corner of his eye, and it breaks his heart a little when he realizes, but.

Life goes on. 

(And isn't that a bitch.)

********

Thing is, Jason's life sucks.

He's on his back in some condemned building, roof rotting away and broken glass littering the floor. The street light outside is flickering, buzzing, and something wet trailing down his face. There's pain, too, dulled to a steady sort of burn, something that makes him think of coals burning down.

A shadow falls over him and Jason open his eyes (doesn't remember closing them) and looks up at _the kid_ from all those years ago, hood of his black robe hiding his face from sight. He's leaning on the snath of a goddamned scythe, head cocked. 

“Get in over your head again?”

The voice is strange, hollow sounding, so different from what Jason remembers. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason manages.

He doesn't know how, but he knows the kid's amused.

And slowly the kid stands up, bringing the scythe in front of him, light catching along the menacing curve of metal.

“Try not to be so stupid in the future,” the kid says, and phases through the wall. 

Jason stares, and slowly gets up on his knees, pulls himself painfully to the ruined doorway to see the kid luring the fucking monster that chased Jason to this dead end out into the open. 

The kid makes a running leap towards the monster - there's a flash of light and the scythe is a bo staff. Snaps his hand forward and discs made out of blinding energy hit the monster, causing it to bellow in pain and rage, swinging a massive hand at his head.

The kid drops, rolls and comes up on its blind side. Tosses out more of those glowing discs before going for height, jumping on top of a dumpster and onto the rusted fire escape and up and up.

He's not injured, but there's a slice in his hood, tattered edges fluttering around his face as he turns and dives for the monster, and brings the butt of the staff around to slam int the things face - horrible mask shattering.

The thing _shrieks_ , and Jason drops, heart racing because he's never heard anything sound like that.

He can hear the kid fighting, hear the monster thrashing, and then a deafening silence.

Then footsteps, even, measured.

He looks up to see the kid looking down at him, head tipped in a way to show the barest curve of his lips and, “Be more careful in the future.”

********

Jason's being careful, it's just.

Fucking _Gotham_.

Gotham and its ghosts, and fucking - 

“Goddammit, Harper!”

Jason regrets ever stepping foot down here, running into those fucking _kids_. 

It's only been a month since he was sent down into the tunnels as part of a work crew, stumbling on the two of them in their little hideaway, wary and suspicious and fucking annoying.

Harper trying to scare him off while he worked, Cullen hovering nearby and Jason pretending he couldn't see either of them with his supervisor micromanaging.

Only a month and Jason's too damn attached to the assholes, running after Harper when she showed up at his apartment frantic and babbling about the thing that's been fucking stalking them for days.

They can't find Cullen anywhere and Harper is going to get herself eaten by one of those mask wearing freaks because Jason can't fucking keep up, pant leg soaked with blood and more spilling out of the ragged wound on his leg.

“I thought I told you to be more careful,” the kid says, appearing out of nowhere.

Jason glares at him, tries to pull himself upright, but - 

“Stop,” the kid says, turns to look at the tunnel Harper disappeared down. “More of your strays?”

They're not – 

Jason doesn't -

Jason snarls, reaches out and grabs the edge of the kid's robe. “Fucking find them,” he bites out.

The kid looks at him, face perfectly neutral.

“It's what you do, isn't it?” Jason snaps. “Kill those things?”

Because Jason's seen the kid around Gotham. Seen him fighting those goddamned things across rooftops and down narrow alleys, seen him talking to Gotham's lost and forgotten, pale ghosts lingering in dark places. (Sees him press the end of his staff against their forehead, a flash of blue-white light and they're gone the same way Colin went.)

The kid sighs, gently tugs his robe free and tips Jason over just enough that he loses his balance and lands on his ass, leg screaming in agony.

“You fucker,” Jason hisses, curling down around his leg.

“Stay here,” the kid says, face impassive. “Don't follow.”

Like Jason's a goddamn _dog_.

“There's not much you could do if you did,” the kid says, and his expressions softens. “I'll find them.”

Something in the way he says it - 

Jason might have moved on, but like hell he's going to forget Colin, what this damn kid did to him and the others like him.

“Just,” Jason sighs. Scrubs a hand over his face. “Just fucking find them.”

Better the kid than that thing because Colin hadn't been _afraid_ with the kid, and that's the only thing that matters now.

The kid hesitates, and then he's just gone, leaving Jason alone in the dark with all his mistakes.

********

“It's called a Soul Burial,” the kid says.

He's sitting in front of the window that looks out over the street. His scythe is resting against his shoulder, blade curving over his back.

Most surprising, though, is that his hood is pulled down and Jason finally gets to see his face, after all this time. 

He looks younger than Jason was expecting, and tired. 

Exhausted.

“I don't care,” Jason says. 

It's been months since that day down in the tunnels, and the kid shows up _now_. 

Definitely uninvited, unwelcome.

There's a heavy sigh, one that drags Jason's shoulders down with it.

“That's part of my job too,” the kid says, looks over at Jason. “It's not just killing Hollows.”

Or saving Jason's sorry ass, over and over again, and.

That.

“Is that what those fucking things are called?” Jason finds himself asking. “Hollows?”

The kid sighs again. 

“I think,” he says, very carefully, “it would be best if you know what you're dealing with out there.”

This, right here, this is one of those moments Jason's going to regret somewhere later down the road.

(Like telling his mother about the things he could see. Not walking away the moment he realized what Colin was. Staying out of the damn tunnels after running into Harper and Cullen that first time.)

“So tell me.”

********

Here's a little secret about Jason, or rather, here's another little secret:

For as long as Jason can remember he's been looking for something. (Some _one_.)

The thought surges to the forefront of his mind at the oddest moments. 

When he catches a glimpse of something from the corner of his eye when the television in the work break-room is on and someone's watching a damn nature documentary - _rustling noises overhead, high-pitched cries and sound of whisper-quiet wings_.

Passing someone on the street, looking back at them as they turn the corner because for a moment he thinks he sees - _black hair, pale skin, the barest hint of a smile, fond and amused and something else_ \- in the shape of their jaw, the cut of their hair, the way that they walk.

Little things like that, flashes of images, noises, sounds that feel as if they could be memories, but Jason knows they aren't. Can't be, because he's never been in a cave, never known anyone to look at him like _that_.

When he was younger, it was hell trying to figure out what was real, between the memories he knows can't be his and the _things_ he sees no one else can and the world the way normal people saw it. 

(It's no wonder his mother never knew what to do when he asked her if there was something wrong with him.) 

This thing in his head, this thing he'd thought was just another broken piece, something else wrong with him no one could fix is a constant feeling in the back of his mind. It gets easier to ignore as time goes by and he comes to terms with the fact he's never going to find whatever (whoever) it is he thinks he's looking for. 

And then. And then.

That damn kid, the fucking Soul Reaper shows up in his life and Jason. That thing in his head goes crazy, manic, trying to tell him something, that this person, this goddamn kid is important, but Jason usually has something else on his mind when that happens.

(Not dying, usually.) 

He's distracted, that feeling pushed down deep because it's not important at the time, but it's still there, always there.

It doesn't really register with him until the night the kid shows up at Jason's apartment and tells him about Soul Reapers and Pluses and Minuses and goddamned Hollows. Not until he leaves his hood down and Jason sees his face clearly for the first time and realizes that he _knows_ the little shit somehow.

********

The Soul Reaper's staring at him.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Jason says, steps closer. “I remember you.”

The Soul Reaper goes pale, and he backs away.

“That's – No,” he says, shakes his head. “You shouldn't be able to.”

Jason's eyes narrow.

The Soul Reaper looks away, mouth a thin line. “You're not supposed to remember,” he says again, soft. 

“Why the fuck not?” 

The Soul Reaper gives him a helpless look, and says, like it's killing him to get the words out, “I can't tell you.”

And Jason.

Jason's been a freak his whole life, has been attacked, fucking _hunted_ because he looks especially tasty to the damn Hollows thanks to his ability to see things other people can't. He has an entirely different set of memories trapped in his head and the goddamn Soul Reaper who is the only one who can answer his questions _won't_.

“Fuck you,” Jason says, and walks away.

********

He doesn't see the Soul Reaper after that, no matter how hard he looks.

Because, and Jason's always known this about himself: 

He's an asshole.

He's an asshole with a terrible temper he tends to turn on others, and the Soul Reaper is just one more person to add to the list.

Life goes on, slowly, painfully, sometimes, but it goes on.

********

(Until it doesn't, and no one ever sees it coming until it's too late.)

********

“Found you,” the Hollow says, something dark and gleeful in its voice. “Found you again.”

Jason stares up at it, bone-white mask with blood-red lips pulled into a mockery of a smile. Green hair falling over one eye.

It's been years since he's seen the fucker, and it's so goddamn satisfying to know they haven't been kind to it. 

The mask isn't whole now, chips taken out of here and there, a deep crack over one cheek. Scar tissue on its neck where the mask ends, more along its side and down one leg where it moves with a limp

Jason smiles, sharp and cold, because it's bleeding too, thick and foul where he managed to bring part of the building down on it.

Not enough to stop it, kill it, but not too bad for someone like Jason. (Human for all he's a fucking mess.)

“Found you again,” it croons, brings its face in close. “Again and again and again.”

Jason.

There's.

Part of him is afraid to know, and part of him - the part that _remembers_ the Soul Reaper, if only in vague flashes - already does.

“The hell are you waiting for, bastard?”

Because there's no getting out of this this time, no last minute rescue, no goddamn Soul Reaper showing up out of thin air to save him.

Just Jason and a burning warehouse and a Hollow with a clown mask leaning over him.

“You take the fun out of, it, you know?” the Hollow says. “You really do.”

Jason bares his teeth. “Like I fucking care.”

The Hollow sighs, shakes its head like its disappointed, and raises one hand, pops its claws one by one. 

“This isn't even _funny_ ,” it says, mournful, and brings its hand down, claws slicing through cloth and soft skin and muscle and bone with ease, and everything goes _red_ edged with ever-widening black and _painpainpain_.

*********

It's a surprise he wakes up at all, sucking in air and rolling over to throw up because he _remembers_ and knows he shouldn't. 

Remembers that fucking warehouse and Joker hunting him across half of Gotham, singing high and mad and laughing and never once faltering.

Remembers Harper and Cullen and Colin and all of Gotham's other ghosts.

The Soul Reaper.

Little flashes and snatches of memories from _before_ , stronger and a little clearer now. (Wonders what's going to happen if that continues, what it means.)

“Fuck,” Jason groans, dragging himself away from the mess he's made, into the warm sunlight.

He's in a field somewhere, birdsong filling the air, quiet buzz of insects flitting around him.

When he lifts his his head he can just make out buildings in the distance, skyscrapers clawing for the sky, so, so familiar.

“So this is Soul Society,” he mutters, looks around to see rolling hills give way to flat fields and that city in the distance. “Fucking amazing.”

********

There's nothing for him to do but head towards the city, so Jason starts walking.

He loses track of the time, stops counting steps, trying to measure the miles because there's always one more, and another after that. (And on, and on, and on.)

He walks across hills and dales, into forests dark and deep, eyes on him always, and fields with grass high as his chest. Down dusty dirt paths that turn into roads into small encampments and the huge fucking wall surrounding the city. 

And.

It's a goddamn mess, like someone lost the instructions somewhere and just went crazy. Tall buildings made of glass and steel that shine at one side that just rolls and dips into something tall and dark and brooding on the other side that looks like - 

Like _Gotham_.

“Fucking hell,” Jason says, laughs at himself when he automatically heads to the darker end of the city.

********

No one stops him when he passes through thick gates guarded by masked Soul Reapers, scythes strapped to their backs.

No one stops him when he walks through the outskirts of the city, small buildings and worn streets with people bustling about. Into the city proper, memories clearer the closer he gets to wherever it is he's headed.

No one stops him, but - 

“Jason!”

A small blur slams into him, staggering him backwards a step, two, and hands grabbing at his clothes. “What happened? Why are you here? You're not supposed to be here yet!”

 _Colin_.

“Christ, Jason. The hell are you even doing here?”

 _Harper_.

“Fucking - “

“You look horrible.”

Where there's Harper, there's _Cullen_ , crowding around him, arms wrapping tight around one another and Jason - 

“The fuck is wrong with your eyes, Jason?”

“Fuck off, I hate you,” Jason says, like anyone believes him.

********

They shouldn't remember, but they do.

Colin refusing to let him go until Harper and Cullen pry him off, and.

“Why the hell do you even know who I am?”

Harper gives him a look that say she's so very sorry he's just that dumb and says, “No one could forget someone as stupid as you, Jason.”

********

Memory leads Jason to a road that heads up and up and up that opens up into some kind of _estate_.

Jason hesitates at the gates, and Colin gets a running start and _pushes_ , hands in the middle of Jason's back that manages to make him stumble forward a few steps.

“Don't stop now, Jason,” he says, determined look on his face. “Keep going.”

Jason.

Jason looks between him and the goddamn Rows, and sighs. “I don't even know what I'm doing, kid.”

And he doesn't, but that goddamned _feeling_ in his head is stronger than ever, flashing arrow leading him forward, _this way you stupid fucker, this way._.

“Like that ever stopped you before,” Harper scoffs, trying to look like she really doesn't care how this turns out. “Just go already before short-stuff breaks out the brass knuckles.”

Jason shoots a look at Colin who turns an interesting shade of red and pointedly doesn't meet Jason's eyes.

“...they were a present,” he mumbles, and Jason.

Jason doesn't want to know just yet.

“Go,” Colin urges, gives him another push, and Jason goes.

********

He remembers this, vaguely, a winding path that leads to a copse of trees, tall and proud and - 

Jason looks up up and up – and there's the damned Soul Reaper.

He's high up in one of the trees, legs stretched out in front of him on a thick branch, back resting up against the tree's trunk. The hood of his robe's down, scythe resting against his shoulder, and he looks. 

He looks tired. Older than he should.

There's another person with him at the base of the tree. Robe billowing around his arms and legs as he does something that involves an excessive amount of back-flips and tumbling like some roly poly panda cub. 

“Hey,” Jason says, words drying up. 

The Soul Reaper turns to look at him, his friend hopping around in the handstand he's in to see who's addressing them.

Jason's eyes narrow when he catches a glimpse of the guy's scythe – scythes - strapped to his back. 

“Soul Reaper,” Jason says, wondering what the hell he thinks he's doing exactly.

The Soul Reaper raises an eyebrow, cautious, wary because the two of them hardly parted on good terms. 

“By occupation.”

Jason scowls, and the Soul Reaper's friend flips himself onto his feet, moving to stand between them, like the Soul Reaper needs him to do that. 

“I'm fine, Dick,” the Soul Reaper says, hint of the smile on his face Jason remembers seeing in a dingy alley so long ago.

“Don't forget about the meeting later,” Dick says. 

He pins Jason with one last look before he leaves, and then it's just the two of them.

“Soul Reaper,” Jason says again, wealth of meaning in the words he can't quite put voice to just yet, years and years and an entire lifetime Jason can't quite recall just yet between them.

The blankness in the Soul Reaper's expression melts away, and he drops down to stand in front of Jason. Moves closer slowly, carefully.

Tips his head to the side and says, like a beginning, “My name is Tim.”

**Author's Note:**

> /o\


End file.
